<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<title>A Regular Fuckin’ Frank Sinatra by cortexikid</title>
<style type="text/css">

body { background-color: #ffffff; }
.CI {
text-align:center;
margin-top:0px;
margin-bottom:0px;
padding:0px;
}
.center   {text-align: center;}
.cover    {text-align: center;}
.full     {width: 100%; }
.quarter  {width: 25%; }
.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
.u        {text-decoration: underline;}
.bold     {font-weight: bold;}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/22946095">A Regular Fuckin’ Frank Sinatra</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/cortexikid/pseuds/cortexikid'>cortexikid</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>A Regular Fuckin' Frank Sinatra [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Eddie can sing, Idiots in Love, M/M, Pining, Richie can’t believe he didn’t know that, a quiet moment between two roommates, oh my god they were roommates, small drabble that may become a series</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-02-29</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-02-29</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-01 10:34:53</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>796</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/22946095</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/cortexikid/pseuds/cortexikid</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>“Some day, when I'm awfully low, when the world is cold, I will feel a glow just thinking of you, and the way you look tonight…”</p><p>“Holy shit.”</p><p>Eddie whirled around.</p><p>“Fuck, Richie, don’t sneak up behind me! The last time that happened, an alien made me a human fucking shish kabob.”</p><p>Sorry,” Richie mumbled, his cheeks flushed as he cleared his throat, “you uh...you can sing.”</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Eddie Kaspbrak &amp; Richie Tozier, Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>A Regular Fuckin' Frank Sinatra [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1656979</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>25</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>313</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>A Regular Fuckin’ Frank Sinatra</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>An itty bitty fic that came outta nowhere. I may make it part of a short-Reddie-fic series. Watch this space :)</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em> “Some day, when I'm awfully low, when the world is cold, I will feel a glow just thinking of you, and the way you look tonight…” </em>
</p><p> </p><p>“Holy shit.”</p><p> </p><p>Eddie Kaspbrak whirled around, skillet in hand, fried onions spilling out over the side and landing on the floor with a splat. </p><p> </p><p>“Fuck, Richie, don’t sneak up behind me, man! The last time that happened, an alien made me a human fucking shish kebob.”</p><p> </p><p>Richie blinked, gaping at him as if he was somehow a charitable intruder that had taken it upon himself to cook them dinner in his kitchen.</p><p> </p><p>“Sorry,” he mumbled eventually, his cheeks flushed as he cleared his throat, “you uh...<em>you can sing.</em>”</p><p> </p><p>Eddie, who was busy wiping up the mess off the floor, straightened up, brow furrowed. </p><p> </p><p>“What?”</p><p> </p><p>Richie moved so fast he practically teleported across the room, gesturing wildly. </p><p> </p><p>“You—you can fucking <em> sing </em> , Eddie! How—how do I not know that about you? I know <em> fucking everything </em> about you.” </p><p> </p><p>“You <em> do not.</em>”</p><p> </p><p>Eddie flushed as he thought of that <em>one big thing</em> in particular Richie absolutely <em>did not</em> know.</p><p> </p><p>“I <em>did</em>,” Richie insisted with pointed finger, stepping even closer. </p><p> </p><p>Eddie held his ground, tilting his chin up.</p><p> </p><p>“Back when we were kids,” Richie continued, something indecipherable in his gaze, “I knew you inside and out, dude. How the fuck did you hide the fact that you’re a regular fuckin' Frank Sinatra?”</p><p> </p><p>Eddie turned back to what remained of his onions. </p><p> </p><p>He shrugged. </p><p> </p><p>“I can...hold a note, Richie. That doesn’t mean I can—”</p><p> </p><p>“The fuck it doesn’t! Have you heard yourself? Fuck Kelly Clarkson - you’re the American Idol, man. Shit, I gotta tell the oth—”</p><p> </p><p>“Don’t!” </p><p> </p><p>Richie stopped dead in his tracks as Eddie grabbed his shoulder, his fingers digging hard into his skin, through his shirt. </p><p> </p><p>“Why?” He asked, his back still turned. </p><p> </p><p>Eddie slowly let his hand drop. </p><p> </p><p>Richie’s stomach flipped at the loss. </p><p> </p><p>“It’s...embarrassing,” Eddie spoke to his shoes, “I don’t...I don’t sing for other people. Just, for me. It’s...mine.”</p><p> </p><p>Richie nodded, understanding passing between them as he moved to lean against the fridge, his arms crossing over his chest as he watched Eddie get back to his dish.</p><p> </p><p>“I still can’t believe I never knew you had the pipes of an angel.”</p><p> </p><p>Eddie winced, adding a pinch of salt, “How do you make everything sound like a sex joke?” </p><p> </p><p>“Natural talent,” Richie shrugged, “but seriously, man. You...you’re talented.”</p><p> </p><p>If Eddie’s face felt a little hot, he could blame the oven rising the temperature in the kitchen. </p><p> </p><p>“Thanks.”</p><p> </p><p>Richie gave a heavy sigh, letting his head bang back against the fridge door as he lamented to the ceiling, “I just wish 13-year-old me could have heard baby Spagheds belt one out.”</p><p> </p><p>“Sounds like another sex joke,” Eddie rolled his eyes as he stirred the sauce, “and besides, I could have been singing karaoke every damn day, but you were too busy belting out <em> Eddie My Love </em> to hear anything over your own crowing.”</p><p> </p><p>Richie gave him a gentle punch to his shoulder. </p><p> </p><p>“Fuck you! I’ve the voice of—”</p><p> </p><p>“Cameron Diaz from My Best Friend’s Wedding, only sadder and drunker.”</p><p> </p><p>A beat passed where they listened to the pan sizzle.</p><p> </p><p>“That’s...fair.”</p><p> </p><p>They laughed, Richie opening the fridge to take out a beer. </p><p> </p><p>“Bill wants his gross craft shit. I don’t get it, man. It tastes like fucking piss and gasoline had a one-night-stand and produced a disgusting love-child.”</p><p> </p><p>Eddie hummed at his friend’s theatrics, beginning to dish up the food, letting his eyes rake up and down Richie as he turned his back to grab another beer that, despite his protests, Eddie had zero doubt was for him.</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>Richie had dressed up for dinner. One of their biannual Losers reunions that they, as roommates of four months, were hosting this time around. </p><p> </p><p>The navy shirt and black slacks fit him like a glove. </p><p> </p><p>Eddie shoved an extra roast potato onto Beverly’s plate. It was the least he could do for her invaluable fashion choices.</p><p> </p><p><em>“Never, ever change...keep that breathless charm</em>,” he sang softly under his breath as he began to turn everything off, hyper aware that the only sound now was his voice,<em> “won’t you please arrange it? 'Cause...I love you, just the way you look tonight…”</em></p><p> </p><p>He could feel Richie watching him out of the corner of his eye, but he kept his own gaze forward, his heart hammering against his ribcage. </p><p> </p><p>“I...I thought it was just for you?”</p><p> </p><p>Eddie shrugged, still unable to look at him and instead focussed on arranging the seven plates to his standard.</p><p> </p><p>“Yeah, well. You’ve always been the exception, Rich.”</p>
<hr/><p><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/cortexikid/works?fandom_id=134900">More Reddie stuff here</a>. Come yell with me about these Losers <a href="http://octoberobserver.tumblr.com">on my Tumblr</a> :)</p>
  </div></div>
</body>
</html>